The Passionate Italian Read online

  “Am I glad to see you Simon.”

  “So it would seem Signora Rose.”

  He held her firmly as they walked the block back to the palazzo.

  “Do you often go there, Simon?”

  “Rarely. But it was suggested that you might need some assistance tonight. I’d been there a while before I thought it timely to make my move.”

  “Who did the suggesting?”

  “Signore Visconti of course. He wanted to make sure you arrived home safely.”

  She stopped in astonishment and stood unsteadily. “How did he know I was there?”

  “I think it would be more fitting for him to tell you that. But he was aware of your, er, evening out, but—”

  “But didn’t want to do anything about it himself. Thought he’d get you to do the dirty work.”

  “Now, Signora Rose. Firstly we should move. You’ll get us both run over standing in the middle of the road like this. And secondly escorting you from the club was hardly dirty work.”

  “Hmm!” Rose began walking once more, her shoes stabbing the cobbled stones with irritation. He’d been there, or had known she was, and had deliberately sent one of his employees to sort her out. Just like an errant child who needed to be watched over by an impartial carer. Damn it! He hadn’t even cared enough to make sure she was all right himself!

  She could feel the tears begin. She really must have drunk more wine than she’d thought. Those guys must have been topping up her glass without her noticing.

  So that’s all she was to him. Someone to be organized, cared for from a distance, just like one of his employees. She’d tried to find him, to spend time with him, but instead she’d found interest from the wrong men and even Giovanni’s jealousy had failed to respond. It was stupid: jealousy didn’t equal love. She knew that. But it was his total lack of response that got to her. It could only mean one thing. He didn’t love her any more.

  “Please don’t cry.” Simon’s voice held an edge of panic.

  “I’m not crying.”

  She continued not to cry all the way back to the Palazzo where she used Simon’s scarf to wipe away the mascara rings before entering. He opened the door for her.

  “Good night, signora, I’ll leave you now.”

  “Night.” Once inside she fell back against the closed door and listened to his muffled steps retreat to his nearby apartment. None of the staff lived in the house. She was quite alone. Except for Giovanni, somewhere in the depths of the house.

  She breathed in the polished dark emptiness of the grand hall. The clock clanged two chimes, for once on time. He’d be in bed by now. She slipped off her shoes and began to walk down the hall. Head down, watching her step, intent on getting to her bedroom unnoticed.

  Suddenly the top of her head bumped into something. She screamed and jumped back.

  “Walking around without looking where you’re going; is that a New Zealand habit that you’ve acquired?”

  “Where the hell did you come from?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you. Come in here.”

  She followed him into his study, desperately trying to keep the waves of nausea at bay and clear her head. She sat down in the soft suede chair and realized that there was little chance of recovering sufficiently to win a game of wits with him. But she’d give it her best shot.

  “What do you want Giovanni? To tell me off for having fun?”

  “Did you?”

  “What? Have fun? Of course. How could I not? Good wine and good company. Very good company.”

  She watched carefully, noticing a tightening around his jaw. “You certainly appear to have had a surfeit of both.”

  “How would you know? You sent Simon to watch over me.”

  He glanced quickly at her before pouring himself a drink and sitting down at his desk. She watched him suspiciously.

  “You were there, weren’t you?”

  “Of course. I was told that you were dining there and thought I would join you. But even after half an hour you’d acquired quite a gathering around your table.”

  “So you left?”

  “No. I watched and waited. But got bored watching your awkward flirtations and decided to leave the job to Simon. Whatever your reason for such behavior, I thought it might best if I weren’t there to witness it.”

  “Didn’t like seeing your wife with other men?”

  “Didn’t like seeing my employee make a fool of herself.” Giovanni snapped back. “Don’t do it again Rose. You are hopelessly inept and besides, your obvious intention has failed. You have not made me jealous.”

  Giovanni sat back and watched as she swayed slightly in her chair, about to deny his charge but then, for whatever reason, changing her mind.

  He’d like to wring the neck of each one of the young men who had devoured Rose with their eyes. He’d seen what they’d seen and he’d imagined what each one of them had imagined. They were new to the establishment otherwise they wouldn’t have dared to try to ensnare his wife from under his nose.

  But for all the lusting after her body, and for all the jealousy of watching other men covet what should be his, it was his overwhelming sense of tenderness he felt for her that shocked him.

  When she’d looked uneasy at some remark he’d wanted to kiss away the frown on her forehead; when she’d flicked away her hair from her breasts that one of the bastards had lain there, he’d wanted to smooth it away and kiss the place where it had touched; when she’d finally risen to go, he’d wanted to wrap her in his arms and carry her away to safety.

  For he had been there and watched her performance from the manager’s office where he couldn’t be seen and where enough money had secured the manager’s silence.

  He cared for her all right, but he’d learnt his lesson two years ago: one, that his overpowering jealousy had killed their relationship and two, if he revealed the depths of his love for her, she would only run away once more. She’d been born a free spirit and her unbalanced mother had turned her into an independent one by necessity. It had been his fault—all of it. But he’d given her time, he tried to show her that his jealousy was under control but even his new-found control had limits. And he’d just reached them. He was still determined to keep his distance emotionally, but he sure as hell was going to keep close to her physically. There was going to be no repeat of tonight.

  Impossible.

  It was the only word she could think of to describe the past few weeks. They’d been together—Giovanni had made sure she was always close by—but separate. It was as if a massive, invisible wall had grown between them overnight. They’d been overly polite to each other. Going out of their way not to touch, or to brush past. At least she’d made progress on her work.

  Alberto was as guilty as sin. All she had to do was prove it. And it wouldn’t take too much longer. So absorbed was she that Rose didn’t hear Simon enter until he coughed politely.

  “Signora Rose, Signore Visconti has requested that you leave your work for today and join him.”

  Rose frowned and continued to scroll through sheets of company accounts. “Thank you Simon. However, I can imagine that Signore Visconti used different words and that you’ve kindly translated it into polite English.”

  He pursed his lips ruefully. The twinkle in his eyes said it all.

  “Tell Signore that I’m not hungry and that I’ve work to do.”

  Simon raised his eyebrow, questioning the wisdom of her reply.

  She looked up at him. “I know, I know. But I can’t get away, I’m on to something here.”

  “Of course. I will relay your message to Signore Visconti.” He inclined his head respectfully and closed the door quietly behind him.

  And besides, she muttered under her breath, she couldn’t take spending every minute of her down time with a man whose clothes she wanted to rip off and who was patently not interested in her. He wanted business; he would have business. Being so close to him while he was so constantly cool with her, was driving her in
sane.

  If he only wanted her to work, then why the hell was he intent on dominating her entire life?

  Wherever she went, he was there.

  The past few weeks had been murder. He’d insisted on cozy little lunch catch-ups; on formal dinners and now he was insisting on her attending a high-society charity party. He was treating her with all the respect and distance of a work colleague: nothing more, nothing less. But making sure she attended every social event on his calendar. Well she damn well wasn’t going to be treated like a work colleague. She was his wife and lover. Former lover, she amended.

  The door swung open sharply making her jump. She knew who it was but refused to turn around.

  “Get changed and then meet me in the drawing room.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “It was not a request.”

  “Hey, I’m on to something and the sooner I get it tied up, the sooner I can go. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “What have you found?”

  She noticed that he hadn’t answered her question.

  “Some discrepancies unaccounted for.”

  “There are always discrepancies.”

  “Not as big and not as regular as these. Besides the same name keeps popping up.”

  “Alberto.”

  She looked up at him suddenly. “You knew all along didn’t you?”

  “I suspected.”

  “Well, it looks as though your suspicions are correct.” She narrowed her gaze. “Anyway, why did you need me? You could have simply dealt with Alberto yourself.”

  “I need proof. Suspicions weren’t sufficient. My brother and I are not close, as you know. My mother would simply refuse to believe any allegations I make without evidence.”

  She turned away from Giovanni and pressed her eyes tight shut. She knew well. The two were opposites with a pile of emotional issues thrown into the mix for good measure. Their relationship had always been a minefield ready to explode. She’d made sure that she wasn’t the touch paper two years ago. But it looked as though Giovanni wanted her to provide the match now.

  “I can’t give you the proof yet. But I’m close.” She swung around to face him. “Giovanni. Are you sure you want to do this? The amounts involved are nothing compared to the company’s turnover. You’re going to blow the family apart.”

  “The family was blown apart many years ago by my mother’s infidelities and my father’s violence. And my brother has wasted his life.”

  “And continues to do so at some resort or other.”

  And boy, was she relieved. She didn’t know where he was and she didn’t want to know. So long as he was nowhere near her and not expected any time soon, that was good enough for her.

  “You miss him?” Giovanni’s voice was a whisper.

  She looked at him in disbelief. “No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

  “I received the distinct impression that you like him. A lot.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know where you got that idea from—probably Alberto.” She raised her eyebrows. “The concept of a woman not attracted to Alberto is foreign to him.”

  It was as if she’d struck a match, lit a light in his eyes. For the first time in the weeks since she’d returned, Rose saw the old familiar spark of heat, of passion, of humor once more in his eyes. It warmed her like nothing else, attracting her to its flame.

  She rose and stepped closer.

  “Your family has a lot to answer for Giovanni.” More than he would ever know. “But it’s your father you blame most, isn’t it?”

  “What he did tore our family apart. Tore me apart,” he added softly. “And made my mother’s philandering even worse. Without his violence she would have been less unhappy.”

  “And spent more time with you and your brother. Loved you more.”

  “She loved my brother enough. For myself, it isn’t important. No, it was my father’s weakness that I despise. My mother,” he shrugged, “she knew no better.”

  Rose’s eyes shot open. “Your mother never gave you what you needed most. She abandoned you.” She touched his arm.

  He looked down at her hand in dull puzzlement.

  “As did you, Rose.”

  She snatched back her hand as if he’d scalded her.

  “I had no choice, Giovanni. You don’t understand.”

  “If you’d tried to explain, I may have understood. You obviously didn’t believe I would and you could have been right. But the time for explanations is gone—I’m no longer interested in them.”

  “Then why am I here!” she blazed. “Why drag me across the other side of the world where I was happy.”

  “You weren’t happy. You existed merely.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because I know you—with or without explanations, with or without logic—I know you. I know you on a level that you will never understand.”

  “Know me perhaps, but want me no longer.”

  “Why do you think I do not want you?”

  He moved closer to her, his head tilted to one side, his expression curious. She stood tall, trying to hold her own under his scrutiny.

  “Because apart from that night on the plane you haven’t touched me.”

  “And you would welcome my touch?”

  His hands were firmly pushed into the pockets of his trousers but he stepped closer to her again until she could sense the comfort of his body so close.

  “I, I didn’t say that.”

  “But you implied it.”

  She shook her head as if to shake herself out of the hole that she’d just created. She tried to step around him but he was too quick and blocked her way.

  “Answer my question.”

  “I don’t intend to. A minute ago you wanted me to get ready for a charity ball. Well, let me go and get dressed.”

  “No.” He lazily drew a hand from his pocket and let one finger drift down her cheek and around her chin, holding it there briefly before tilting it up so that she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Not yet. You want me to touch you, well I am touching you. How does that make you feel?”

  There was no way in this world she was about to tell him of the electrical storm his touch ignited in her body.

  She shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant way. “OK I suppose.”

  His beautiful lips quirked briefly into a smile.

  “OK? I will have to work on that, obviously.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She tried to shake her head free.

  “But I do.”

  “You haven’t up to now. We’ve been together for three weeks now and nothing—no sign of interest. What’s changed?”

  “Simple cara. You’ve just answered my second question.”

  He dropped his hand from her face, smiled at her obvious confusion and walked away.

  “What question? What was it?”

  “Don’t be late. We’re leaving in one hour.”

  He didn’t even bother to turn around.

  She followed him out of the room and watched him retreat to his suite of rooms.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was still possible.

  It was all she could think as, in a daze, she walked to her room and flicked on the shower and undressed automatically. As she stepped out of her clothes, a cool evening breeze, fresh from the mountains, blew through the open window and a blast of air hit her skin, sensitizing her body.

  It was still possible that he wanted her.

  Whatever question she’d inadvertently answered had triggered a response she’d feared was dead.

  As she stepped into the shower, the harsh spray of water stung her body and the kaleidoscope of her memories collapsed, flashing one after another, forming a new image.

  His no holds barred passion during their brief marriage together; his choice of words when he found her again in New Zealand—“you are mine still”—after he kissed her; and his constant presence over the previous few weeks.

  They adde
d up to a picture of someone whose formidable pride had forced him to bury his feelings for her deep, but not so deep that she couldn’t unearth them again.

  She had to leave in a few weeks anyway, before Alberto returned. She needed Giovanni to know what she felt for him, she wanted to experience his love before she left. Besides there was always the possibility that Alberto might disappear, might simply go away—seduced by a young brunette, or an older one—go far away, where Giovanni’s rage at what Alberto had done to Rose wouldn’t have the fatal consequences she feared.

  If he still wanted her—even a little—there was still hope. And hope was a potent thing: it extended boundaries, knocked down walls, protected and nurtured the tiniest of seeds.

  As if reinforcing the power of her emotional shift she was slammed back physically into her life by the sensory force of the shower, registering each touch, sight, smell with abnormal vividness. Hope blossomed further in this sensory overdrive where sensation layered upon sensation, awaking memories of Giovanni touching her, making love to her.

  Hope and sensation—it was a heady mix.

  She felt the steamy velvetiness of the glass doors, soaked in steam, upon her palms and breathed in deeply the scents from the cosmetics on the shelf and from the flowers that filled the window box on her balcony, letting the power of the water blast away the shadows that haunted her. Shadows that had to be forced into the light. Because only there would they do no harm.

  She had to tell Giovanni the truth. Had to tell him everything.

  She lathered her hands and ran them down the length of her body, relishing the feel of her skin under the silky soap. She closed her eyes and saw Giovanni, his eyes, looking into hers as he explored her body. Heat shimmered deep inside her.

  She turned the shower to cold and let the fierce shock slam into her gnawing need for him. She had to have him once more.

  She smiled as her thoughts took shape.

  After applying her lipstick, Rose stood back from the mirror, knowing what she would see because she knew what she was feeling. But it was still a shock.

  Gone was the cool, controlled businesswoman and gone was the recluse she’d become in New Zealand. The tension between the two images was resolved in the sophisticated and sensual woman who looked back at her from the mirror.